


(No More) Afterglow

by aintgonnaleaveyoumikey



Series: Something Happened On The Way To Heaven (But We'll Get There) [4]
Category: Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games), Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Cheating, Friendship, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27893836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aintgonnaleaveyoumikey/pseuds/aintgonnaleaveyoumikey
Summary: His thoughts kept wandering to Trevor.That was an understatement. Trevor refused to leave his head even for a second.
Relationships: Michael De Santa & Amanda De Santa, Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Series: Something Happened On The Way To Heaven (But We'll Get There) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640233
Comments: 27
Kudos: 43





	(No More) Afterglow

After the gorgeous sea view turned into buildings and street signs, Michael kept watching out the taxi window, but he stopped _seeing_ his surroundings.

The drive had been mercifully devoid of interaction after a few awkward lines of small talk and Michael putting on his earphones and playing Genesis loud enough to drown out the obnoxiously upbeat music playing on the radio, so he should have had plenty of time to think about what he was going to say to Amanda — but his thoughts had kept wandering to Trevor.

That was an understatement. Trevor had refused to leave his head even for a second.

He usually prepared at least _something_ in situations like these, some kind of defense when he knew he had done something wrong, but now… he got absolutely nothing. He had contemplated going to another motel, drinking his fucking feelings away and evading Amanda's wrath that way. But he had been gone for too long, and he desperately needed a change of clothes. And what good would that do, anyway? He would have to face her eventually.

The driver was already slowing down, shooting glances at the navigator when they approached Michael's street.

"Here’s fine," Michael said and took off the earphones. The driver pulled over, and Michael got his wallet out of his pocket. 

"That would be…" the driver laughed a bit, checking the meter, "98 bucks. Wow. Not a drive I get to make every night."

Michael chuckled politely, paid the man, and said his _goodbyes_ and _thanks_ like a normal human being before getting out. He stood on the sidewalk, looking at his house, and feeling like he would rather burn the house down than go in. He cursed under his breath.

He waited for the taxi to drive off before crossing the street. He walked slowly but couldn’t stall anymore. He just hoped Amanda would be sleeping; it was late already so she should be.

Unless she was waiting for him. A filmesque imagery of Amanda in a nightgown, angry and drunk on wine, popped into his head — but as he opened the gate, he saw the lights were out. And that was a good indication that maybe he would escape her wrath for a while longer. 

He opened the door quietly, feeling ridiculous as he sneaked into his own home. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, listened to the silence for a while, wanting to go up and get the disastrous evening behind him, but he couldn't just yet. First, he needed a drink or three to feel a bit less. 

*** 

The water was almost burning his skin, but he didn't adjust it.

He fucking deserved the discomfort, because he was an impulsive piece of shit, and he never stopped to think. Wasn't age supposed to bring wisdom? When would he turn into one of the wise, old men he saw in movies? 

He had always been hot-headed, not thinking things through. Fighting in high school. Getting into crime. Trevor. Amanda.

Especially Trevor and Amanda.

He just about remembered the night he met her. He had been celebrating a successful heist with Trevor, Lester, and Moses with plenty of alcohol and so much cocaine that now his heart would stop even looking at it. Amanda, with her great legs and a cheeky grin, had grabbed his attention from the very start — the physical attraction had been immediate, at least from his side. They had been young and hot, Michael with too much money on his hands and Amanda with none as all her earnings were immediately snatched up by her bitch of a mother. He couldn’t blame himself for getting protective when _that_ was her situation **.** It was almost like a plot of a movie, only the hero wasn't that much of a hero. 

Michael washed his hair, lost in his thoughts. 

In school, he never got serious with anyone. He had flings and one night stands, but he didn't want anyone to see where and how he lived, so nothing ever led anywhere. He couldn't let people close to him. 

Trevor was the first person he ever told about his fucked up childhood after Trevor talked about his. With him, Michael felt a kinship for the first time in his life. 

But Amanda was the first person he allowed himself to fall in love with even though they didn’t establish their relationship as something serious. It still became serious fast, at least in their own " _I'll buy you new tits since you don't like yours and maybe you can bring in the money by doing a little call girl thing on the side"_ fucked up way.

He hadn't thought about Trevor’s feelings when he jumped into a relationship with her, but Trevor hadn’t seemed to mind it at the beginning; Michael had always slept with anyone he wanted anyway. Trevor even liked Amanda until she got pregnant and Michael made his choice to start a family. He still kept fucking Trevor, keeping it all a secret from her, of course, and back then he thought that it should have been enough for Trevor. 

Now, Michael understood it was never enough for Trevor, and he understood why. He was probably feeling something similar right now; in a ridiculously short time, he had invested everything into their newfound relationship. Just because Trevor had shown him affection and intimacy and a way to release his pent-up sexual energy, he had let his emotions and libido take control of him. He shouldn't have done that.

He always fucked things up because he didn't stop and _think_.

He hadn’t stopped to think about getting into a relationship with Amanda, but what was even worse, he hadn’t even learned from that mistake. He almost laughed out loud when he remembered that Trevor had said he and Amanda were _similar_. In this, they definitely were. Both were easy to fall for, but in the long run… they probably just brought Michael misery. 

The truth was that Trevor was a fucking methhead, and Michael didn’t know how they would work _at all_. Maybe they were just rekindling an old flame that would end up burning them alive.

The afterglow was over; rationally thinking it was easy to regret Trevor. The problem was that even if it made no sense, Michael still wanted him desperately.

Evidently, he would need a few more drinks before he could stop feeling. 

He got out of the shower and washed his teeth, and it felt like he was getting rid of the evidence of spending the night and day with Trevor. The huge bite mark — because _that_ could not even be described as a hickey — on his neck would be impossible to hide, though. None of his shirts would cover it, and he didn't own any scarves.

His family would see it and know exactly what he had been doing while he was gone. A part of him wondered if Trevor did it on purpose. Well, a big part of him wondered that, but he decided to believe that even Trevor wouldn't be that much of a dick. 

He dried off and put on a pair of boxers and a tank top. He wasn't tired after sleeping for the whole day, so he decided to go downstairs to drink more and watch a movie, his cure for amnesia since high school. Some things never changed.

He walked through the bedroom as slowly and quietly as he could and was already at the door when he realized Amanda’s breathing was a lot shallower now compared to when he sneaked into the shower.

He stopped, fingers brushing on the door handle, as he tentatively glanced back — only to see Amanda sitting up slightly, turning on the bedside lamp and looking at him. 

Normally at this point, he would try to get close to her, pretend he hadn’t been doing anything wrong, that everything was normal. Try to charm his way out of it, even when Amanda had been able to see right through him for years.

He didn’t try it now. 

Because even if all alarms were ringing in his head, berating him and warning him about Trevor, urging him to stick to this life he already had… he couldn't do that. There was no going back, no matter what happened with Trevor. And there was no way Amanda didn't realize or sense that something had changed. The air in the room felt completely different than he had expected. She wasn't angry like he had feared, not in the slightest. Maybe it was disappointment or… _defeat_ emanating from her. It made him feel so much worse than pure anger would have. 

"I'm not even going to bother asking you where you’ve been," she spoke with a low voice, sounding drained.

Michael turned around with a deep sigh, keeping eye contact. "I’m sorry," he whispered. The " _it’s over"_ went unsaid, but the futility of those words was made obvious by Amanda’s gaze landing on her neck.

"Wow," she scoffed, "You’re not even trying to hide it."

"... I’m sorry," he repeated, not knowing what else there was to say right now. He couldn’t bring up Trevor, not right after they... The thought made him feel sick. 

The woman he had once loved looked back at him exhaustedly. "You’re sorry? Those words don’t mean anything coming from you, Michael, not anymore," she said before laying her head on the pillow again.

Michael couldn’t disagree.

***

"DAD!" 

Michael was standing up in an instant, reaching for the gun in his drawer—

"What the fuck, Dad?! You scared me!" Jimmy yelled, and Michael's brain caught up. He was in the living room, and there was no threat, except… 

"Fuck, you made me spill my cereal. I'm not cleaning that up," Jimmy complained, standing next to the sofa just wearing his underwear and a t-shirt. Michael looked at the spilled milk on the floor and rubbed his eyes. He didn't feel rested at all; he felt a headache coming on.

"Why were you screaming?" Michael grumbled and sat down, his back hurting like a bitch. His _everything_ was hurting. He rolled his shoulders and neck, grimacing in pain.

"Uh, because it's already 2 pm, and your drunk ass is hogging the sofa," he scoffed, starting to wolf down the cereal while standing up. "I wanna watch Impotent Rage."

"I’m not drunk," Michael answered, leaving out the " _anymore"_. 

"Are you lying to me or yourself? Or both? Because I’m not believing you. Are you even believing yourself?" He spoke with his mouth full, and Michael closed his eyes in disgust, leaning his head back on the backrest and rubbing his face, not answering Jimmy. 

He heard Jimmy sit down next to him, but he didn’t continue eating. "... Dad. What’s that?"

Michael froze for a moment, alarmed, then looked at Jimmy. "What?"

Jimmy was staring at his neck with wide eyes. Michael put his hand over it self-consciously, even though it was too late. 

He stood up angrily, leaving the bowl on the couch. "What the fuck, dad?! You promised mom you wouldn’t cheat on her anymore! You’re a total asshole!"

His shouting made Michael’s head hurt; he pursed his lips but didn’t have the energy to fight back. "Yeah, I know."

Jimmy’s voice got higher and his face distorted in anger. "You said you would stop that bullshit! You _promised_! And then you go and… What? Hook up with a fucking werewolf?!" 

"Stop yelling," Michael pleaded. At least Jimmy didn’t stop to think that there were really no women who could bite into someone _that_ ferociously. 

"I hope Mom actually divorces your worthless ass this time, you dickhead. I’m going out," Jimmy spat out and stomped upstairs.

Michael looked at the spilled milk again. "She will. Don’t you worry about that," he muttered. He wished he could stop hurting his family, but he just always found a new way to fuck up. 

Soon Jimmy slammed the door on his way out, and Michael reached for the bottle that just about had enough whiskey left to get his day started. 

  
  


***

After hours and hours of drinking alone in the empty house — Amanda and Tracey hadn’t been around all day, which wasn’t unusual, and Jimmy didn’t come back — and wallowing in his regrets, Michael called Trevor.

He vaguely realized that he shouldn’t have, but he just wanted to work things out. And since his family wasn't there, he thought to fix it with Trevor, first.

None of his intentions mattered since the call went straight to voicemail; he listened to Trevor’s harsh voice telling him to spit _it out after the beep or fuck off_ , but he didn’t leave a message. 

He was lonely and out of his depth, but there was no way he was going to say _that_ in a voicemail.

So he didn’t have Trevor or his family. He was losing everything, including his fucking mind, except...

"Frank," Michael slurred into the phone, rubbing his eyes. He wasn’t crying, but he wasn’t far away, either.

" _Mike. What’s up, dog?_ "

"... _Frank_ ," Michael uttered again, at a loss for words. 

" _Shit. You okay?"_ Franklin asked, and Michael could swear he heard some panic seeping through Franklin’s usual calmness.

"Yeah. Yeah, just… I fucked up, and I need a friend, Frank. Someone who gives a shit. And another fucking drink. I gotta… gotta get out of this house," he choked out.

There was a long pause. " _You sound like you had enough to drink already, man,_ " Franklin said carefully, " _but you should come over._ " 

"Yeah?" Michael asked, but he was already getting up and checking that he had his keys with him.

" _Yeah. You want me to pick you up?_ "

"I can drive," Michael said defensively, swaying on his feet. 

" _Nah, dog, not this time_ ," Franklin said quickly but sternly. " _Get a taxi, aight?_ "

Michael sighed. "Jesus. Fine. I’ll see you soon. Thanks, Frank."

***

He rang Franklin’s doorbell, sobered enough to feel awkward but not enough to hail the taxi back and make his escape. He wanted the company, needed to talk to someone.

Maybe what he really needed was a new therapist and professional help, but he was _not_ ready for that. 

He shuffled around, looking at Franklin’s ridiculously shiny car, and forced a smile on his face when he heard the door open. 

"Hey, Mike," Franklin greeted him, looking him up and down. He sounded friendly but in a careful way like he was trying very hard not to say something.

"Hey," Michael answered, furrowing his brow when Franklin's gaze settled on the bite mark on his neck. Neither one had time to comment before Chop distracted them by pushing past Franklin and sniffing Michael's legs enthusiastically. 

Michael put out his hand to let Chop get a sniff before petting the dog's head absentmindedly. 

"Chop, move your fat ass so he can actually come in," Franklin sighed, and Michael laughed shortly. 

"Ah, it’s fine. At least someone likes me." Michael quickly realized how pathetic he sounded so he continued talking: "We had a dog, did you know that? A golden retriever. Sparky. He was a good boy. I miss him."

Franklin pulled Chop away from Michael with a worried look on his face. "Right. Come in, man." 

They sat on the couch, and Chop settled in front of Michael. They were silent for a while, and Michael kept petting the dog, feeling a bit uncomfortable. 

"So. What’s up?" Franklin asked after a while, and Michael looked at him with a pained expression.

He could… _come out_ to him. The thought almost made him laugh because he had never considered telling anyone about his complicated, repressed-as-fuck sexuality.

He meant Trevor. _Trevor_ was his complicated, repressed-as-fuck sexuality. 

But he needed help, and Franklin was someone he could trust with his life, so why not with this? The kid had seemed to be tolerant — no, _supportive_ — that one time they were out drinking with Trevor when he asked about Trevor’s sexuality. And he really needed to talk about Trevor to someone. 

"If you laugh at me, I’ll end you," Michael said weakly. 

Franklin raised his eyebrows but nodded, then leaned back on the couch. "Shit, I’ll try not to, dog."

Michael rubbed a hand over his mouth. His words were failing him again; he had his oneliners and comebacks, but why didn’t he plan his words when they mattered?

"Trevor and I…" He glanced at Franklin who was patiently waiting.

"Yeah?" 

For better or for worse. 

"... We’re back together," Michael said simply, trusting Franklin to understand the implication. 

"Back together?" Franklin seemed a bit skeptical. 

Michael groaned. "Back together, as in… _It’s been 10 years but wouldn’t it be great to_ … You know." He waved his hand a bit.

Franklin blinked at him. "Oh, _shit_. So you two _actually—_ "

"Yeah, we fucked," Michael interrupted him. 

"What?" Franklin asked, looking slightly disturbed. "No, dog, that's not what I was gonna say. I just… _Shit_. I mean, I knew there was some history there that you two wouldn’t talk about, but man…" Franklin trailed off.

"Yeah," Michael grunted, embarrassed but grateful that Franklin didn’t seem to be more shocked. Although the silence that followed was telling a lot about how much there was to process for both of them. 

"Well. That was something I did not expect to hear today," Franklin said, leaning back on the sofa. 

"And I didn't expect to be talking about this." Michael rolled his neck nervously. 

"Right. And you're sure that crazy-ass motherfucker wasn't just trying to eat you?" Frank said with a lighter tone of voice, pointing at Michael’s neck.

"I'm pretty sure I can tell those two things apart," Michael grunted, covering his neck self-consciously. "I told you not to fucking laugh."

"Sorry man, I’m not laughing. I’m just trying to get this, you know? You told me you two were my dads but... Dog, I didn't know y'all were actually serious."

Michael remembered the conversation. It had been one of their most fun nights out. He chuckled. "We weren’t anything then. That was just us fucking with you."

Franklin snorted. "Right, right, you weren't _anything_. So when did you become _something_?"

Michael shot him a warning look. "Drop the sarcasm, kid." He sighed, trying not to get defensive since Franklin was only trying to help. "It happened two nights ago." 

"Huh." Franklin frowned a bit, looking thoughtful. 

"What? _Huh_ , what?" Michael frowned right back at him.

"Nothing, just… Me and Trevor had a talk. Shit, I guess that was three nights ago."

Michael’s eyebrows knitted together. "What talk?" 

"We talked about a lot of stuff. Your friend, that Brad dude. Trevor said that he was a dick."

Michael scoffed. "Brad was the fucking worst."

"Worse than _Trevor_?" Franklin asked incredulously.

"No, not _really_. Trevor was _—_ Well. Crazy. But Brad was just an asshole. I wouldn't have expected Trevor to admit that, though. What else did he say?" Michael asked quickly, keen to find out more. 

"Now that I think about it, I think he said that he…" Franklin trailed off, looking thoughtful.

"What?"

"He said that he... loves you. I mean, he said he loves you because you hate yourself, but you know…" He shrugged awkwardly. "I didn't think he meant it like romantic love, but I guess..."

"Fuck," Michael breathed out. Franklin raised his eyebrows at him expectantly.

"... I know he does," Michael continued. He might as well be honest. "He always has. For almost 30 fucking years."

Franklin's eyebrows shot up even higher in surprise. "Oh, damn. And do you—?"

Michael silenced him with a panicked look. "It’s real complicated, kid."

"Yeah, that’s no news," Franklin sneered. "I don't think anything's easy between you two motherfuckers. But uh, he said he’s forgiven you so..."

"He hasn’t. Not _really_ ," Michael said, voice strained. Chop pressed his head on Michael's knee, and he looked at the dog in surprise before letting out a breathless laugh. 

"So… Is that why you’re drunk and miserable? What happened?" Franklin asked compassionately.

Michael kept petting Chop's head and looked at Franklin gloomily. "I’m drunk and miserable because that’s _me_. That’s what I fucking am, Frank. I’m not _allowed_ to be happy. I will always be punished for my past mistakes, and Trevor’s never gonna forgive me." 

Franklin groaned and gave Michael a harsh look. "Stop it with the self-pity, man, fuck. What happened?" He insisted, the compassion gone.

"The whole story?" Michael sighed. 

Franklin nodded, then grimaced. "But I don't need to hear about you fucking ever again."

Michael forced out a chuckle. "I think I need another drink for this conversation."

Franklin shook his head. "Dog, I still think you've had enough. How long you been drinking?" 

Michael shrugged. It wasn't like he cared to keep tabs on his drinking. 

"Aight, I'mma get you _water_ to drink and something to eat, and then we'll talk."

***

Franklin offered Michael leftover pizza, which Michael devoured in the short time it took Franklin to take Chop out. Franklin was kind enough to not comment on it when he got back. 

"Thanks, man," Michael sighed and gulped down a glass of water. 

"It's nothing," Franklin answered and sat down on the couch as well. "You feeling better?" 

Michael nodded an answer. "Yeah. Didn’t realize how hungry I was." His head felt clearer, and he smiled at Franklin. 

His smile probably wasn't that convincing considering the cautious look Franklin gave him. "So… You and T?" 

Michael sighed and rubbed his face. "You know the story. I left him to be with my family, to keep them safe. And I fucking regret leaving him. I _don't_ regret being with my family, but there should have been another way to… Anyway." He shook his head a bit. "We were talking about our past — well, mostly fighting about it," he said, remembering how it all began with Trevor's question about Franklin. He looked at Franklin, brows furrowed. 

"Wouldn't expect anything else," Franklin snickered. 

"Yeah, well..." Michael shrugged. "He made me realize I've been trying to fucking… suppress my... feelings for nothing. It's all been for _nothing_."

"What do you mean, nothing?" 

"Ain't it obvious? I gave him up for a loveless marriage and kids who hate me," Michael scoffed. 

Franklin groaned. "Like I've said a million times before, man, they don't hate you, not really."

"You didn't see Jimmy's face when he saw _this_ ," he pointed at his neck. "Oh, he hates me."

"Ah, fuck," Franklin grimaced. 

" _Yeah_ ," Michael grunted, then sighed. "Tracey and Amanda, too. And it's fine because I hate myself just as much. But if we're all gonna hate me, I might as well have them hate me while being with Trevor. Just gotta figure out how to tell them it's _him_. Because right now, Jimmy thinks it was a woman. Don't know what Amanda thinks."

"Right," Franklin drawled, taking in all the new information. "But if T's not forgiven you yet, are you still gonna... You know." 

"I'm getting a divorce, no matter what," Michael said sternly. "No matter if Trevor wants to be with me or not. What Amanda and I had has been broken for fucking ages, there's no fixing it. Especially not after this."

Franklin nodded slowly. "Okay. I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Do you really wanna be with _Trevor_ , homie? No offense, but the dude is crazy."

Michael glared at him. "I'm aware," he answered drily. 

Franklin put up his hands, a gesture saying " _Well I'm sorry, but he is"_. 

"I _know_ , but I've never been happier than when it was just me and him against the world," he mused. "Not to say that I don't value your friendship, or Lester's."

Franklin snorted a tad amusedly. 

Michael continued. "He might be crazy, but our partnership did work, Franklin. _We_ worked before I made things complicated." 

"Before you faked your death?"

"No, before I got _married_ ," Michael snorted, and understanding dawned on Franklin's face. "Am I just as crazy as him for wanting to try for real this time? Not sure, but I'm just done with trying to find happiness from the wrong places. All my life, I wanted to be normal. Well, fuck that."

Franklin's smile softened. "Sounds like you know what to do then, homie." 

"Yeah, when he wants to talk to me again. _If_ he wants to talk to me again," Michael grunted. 

"He will, dog, don't worry. You just said he's loved you for 30 years. That shit won't go away." 

"... Yeah," Michael muttered, smiling slightly. The love wasn't likely to disappear, but there was a chance that Trevor decided to end it anyway. If he hated Michael more than he loved him.

The thought terrified him. 

"And when I talked to him, he seemed to have moved on from all the shit in the past. At least a bit," Franklin pointed out. "At least he ain’t coming to kill you."

"Ain’t that a good basis for a relationship," Michael sighed.

Franklin laughed a bit. "Yeah, dog. So where's T now?" 

"I have no idea, he left me with his version of ' _don't call us, we'll call you'_. Said he's got business to take care of, and now he's ignoring me." 

"That doesn't sound too bad. At least he said he'd call. Maybe you gotta give him some time." 

Never mind the fact that Michael already called once, but Franklin didn't need to know _everything_.

Michael suddenly realized that even though Trevor wouldn't talk to him right now, there was something he could take care of first: move things forward a bit, even before discussing the divorce with Amanda.

He got up slowly. "I should go and stop bothering you. But thank you for everything, Frank. I really mean it."

"You're not bothering me, man, you're my friend. But you sure you're okay going home?" Franklin asked.

Even though the reminder that he actually had a friend — and even better, one who didn't hate him — made Michael smile warmly, it turned into a grimace as he remembered his drunken call to Franklin, desperately begging to get out of the house. Jesus, that was embarrassing. "Probably. I'll get a hotel room if it gets too much."

"Right. Or you could stay here for the night," Franklin offered. 

Michael thought about it for a while, not sure if he was detecting a hint of loneliness in Franklin's voice or if he was just projecting. 

Either way, they needed to hang out more. 

"Thanks, kid, but I got some calls to make. I'll let you know if I need a place to crash, though." He didn't intend to, but it felt good to get the offer. 

Franklin smiled and nodded. "Aight. I'll call you a taxi." 

Michael politely took the pizza box and the glass to the kitchen — he was a slob at home, but not as a guest — and then Franklin accompanied him to the door. 

"Wait. Calls to make? You're not calling T, right?" Franklin asked suddenly.

Michael scoffed, lying through his teeth as he answered, "No, I'll give him time. A few days, at least." 

Franklin glanced at him but didn't bring up any suspicions if he had them. "Sounds good, dog."

"If he contacts you..." Michael started saying as he opened the door and stepped out, turning to look at Franklin. 

Franklin shook his head. "Nah, man, I ain't getting involved in your drama anymore. _Never_ again," he answered vehemently. 

"Okay, that's fair," Michael agreed, but it made him think of something, a thought that had already crossed his mind earlier. "Hey, uh, that reminds me. Did you consider… offing me when that piece of shit Weston told you to?" 

Franklin's eyes widened in surprise. "Of course not. After everything that you taught me? I couldn't. And you got a fucking family."

Michael nodded; he had figured as much. "... And Trevor?" He asked tentatively. 

Franklin hesitated for just a fraction of a second, but it already told Michael everything. Even more telling was the fact that Franklin stalled answering. "Why are you asking me this, dog?"

"Ah, it's a long story," Michael muttered. "Look, however you answer, Franklin, I won't be mad," he said earnestly.

Franklin looked regretful. "Fuck, I didn't want to. I didn't wanna kill either of you, man. But when Haines... I _considered_ killing T."

Even if Michael had prepared to hear it, the realization of how close he had been to losing Trevor felt like a punch in the gut. 

Franklin put his hands up in defense, looking guilty and nervous — and, effectively, years younger. "Look, Mike, you didn't see how he was before I saved you from the triads…" 

Michael was mortified to see him so alarmed as if he would get hurt for telling the truth. As if Michael would hurt him. "Hey, it's okay, kid," Michael reassured him, putting his own hands up. "I'm not mad."

Franklin stared at him for a while, then nodded slowly and put down his arms. "Shit, it really wasn't okay. I've seen him do a lot of scary shit, dog, but when I asked him about you, I seriously thought he was gonna kill me."

"You? Why would he…?" Michael's brows furrowed in confusion. 

Franklin sighed. "He tried to jump over a fence and he fell, so I laughed because it was funny, right? But he started screaming at me and..." Franklin paused for a while. "He was on the edge of losing it completely because he was so angry at you, man."

"Fucking hell," Michael muttered, rubbing his mouth nervously. "He had his reasons, but he shouldn't have taken it out on you. I don't think he would have killed you, though."

Franklin looked doubtful. "Yeah. Maybe not. He's my friend, _our_ friend, even if he's crazy as fuck, but… But I thought about that when I was making my mind up. If saving you both would just end up with him killing _you_."

It wasn't new information to him that Trevor had wanted him dead, so Michael just nodded, appreciative of the fact that Franklin had wanted to look out for him. "Yeah. A legitimate concern, probably. What made you…?"

"Because I don't do that shit to my homies. And I thought that you and T could work it all out in the end. Guess I was right about that." He smiled slightly.

Michael huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, well. I think we'll get there. Eventually. Hopefully."

There was a moment of silence that Franklin broke by sighing. "I almost got all of us killed when I didn't choose just one of you, though. That shit was fucked up."

"None of that's your fault, Frank," Michael shook his head. "It was _my_ fault that you were put in that position in the first place, and I'm sorry. I should have never involved you in my mess."

Franklin shrugged, feigning nonchalance, and Michael's heart broke a bit. The kid had been through a lot because of him and Trevor. They didn't deserve such a great friend. 

He patted Franklin's shoulder. "But hey, kid, we made it because of you, so I'm still glad I did. And thank you, for not offing us crazy bastards. You lost your chance to do that and save yourself from our bullshit," Michael joked.

Franklin rolled his eyes with a smile before getting serious. "I hope it works out for you and T."

Michael gave him a sad smile. "Me too, kid. Me too."

***

Michael stared at the ocean, smoking his second cigarette in a row and fiddling with his phone. 

After saying goodbye to Franklin and getting in the taxi, he decided he needed some privacy, and he might not get that at home — so here he was, at the end of the pier staring at the setting sun and the waves, lost in his own thoughts and plans. 

The smoke from his cigarette curled up as he unlocked the screen of his phone, again, and turned his gaze to Trevor's picture on his contact list, _again_. 

He wanted to call, but now he was sober enough to realize that he needed to give the man some space. Instead, he found the other contact he needed to call to work things out. And this time he had planned what to say. 

His call was answered after a few rings that felt agonizingly long.

" _Agent Norton_." Dave's voice was businesslike as if he hadn't even checked who called him. 

"What, you've forgotten about me already?" Michael greeted with jest. "The fame _really_ went to your head, Davey."

There was a moment of silence, during which Michael heard a door closing. Then Dave chuckled and sounded more relaxed. " _I take it you've seen my show._ "

"I enjoy your performance a lot more than Steve's — God rest his soul, of course," Michael sneered. 

" _Yes. Truly tragic_ ," Dave answered, not sounding sorry at all. " _How are you doing, Michael_?" 

"I should say fine and ask you the same, but it's not fine this time," Michael answered honestly and took a drag of his cigarette. 

" _What's wrong?_ "

"How much time you've got?" 

" _Five minutes, and that's stretching it. Be quick._ "

Michael whistled. "You're working this late? They better pay you well."

" _Crime doesn't sleep_ ," Dave answered, then paused for a while, and his voice turned stern. " _If you are back in the game, Michael, I swear to God_..."

"No, nothing like that! I'm happily retired." Michael smiled widely. _Happily_ was an exaggeration, but he hadn't missed heists. A lot. 

"... _Feels like I've heard something like that before_ ," Dave answered drily. 

"This time I mean it. I love making movies, Davey. I'll invite you to the next premier."

" _Sure_ ," he agreed but still sounded slightly suspicious of him. " _So, what is the problem_?"

Michael took a deep breath. "I'm divorcing Amanda." 

After a long silence, Dave answered with a sigh.

Michael had a speech ready. "I know, but—" 

Dave interrupted him. " _We talked about this, Michael. It's too risky. For both of us, if she ever decides to talk. The spousal testimonial privilege_ —"

Michael interrupted him in turn. "Believe me, Davey, I _know_ all about that. It's the only thing that kept us married this long. But she won’t be a problem. She’s not gonna say anything about me, about the deal, nothing, because that'd mean she'd also lose the money she never had to work for. She's not stupid." Michael tried not to sound bitter, even if he was. That's what it all came down to. _Money_. Not love, trust, or any mutual respect. 

" _And you're sure about that_?"

"Completely," Michael responded, voice certain.

After another extended pause, during which Michael didn't dare speak, Dave just said: " _Fine_."

"Just fine?" Michael asked, bewildered because he had prepared to defend his decision for longer. 

_"Fine. As in I trust you, Michael. But if she ever does plan to say anything, I expect_ you _to_ take care _of it._ "

Michael grimaced, knowing full well what Dave meant. He remembered the conversation with Amanda and the kids at Doctor Friedlander's office — saying things he wasn't proud of in the slightest, things that he shouldn't have been forgiven for saying — and he sincerely hoped it never got to that.

Nevertheless, he meant it when he sternly answered, "I will."

" _Fine._ _Send me a copy of the papers once you're done with them._ "

"Yeah," Michael breathed, throwing away the cigarette butt and getting ready to leave. That was surprisingly easy. If only talking to Amanda went even nearly as well as this... 

" _So, Michael. Why divorce right now?_ " Dave suddenly asked.

Michael groaned, leaning back against the railing. Of course, Dave wouldn't let him get off that easy. "Weren't you busy, Davey?" He asked with a grimace. 

Dave ignored him. " _See,_ _I’ve been getting the feeling that you've never been exactly happy in that marriage. So why now? What's changed_?"

"Hey, I wouldn’t say _never_ ," Michael answered, a bit defensive. 

Dave just laughed shortly.

Michael grunted. "I'm serious. We did have our moments... Years and years ago, but still."

" _Just spit it out, Michael._ " He sounded amused.

"Fucking fine. I got… someone new." He felt like a teenager, blushingly telling a friend about his crush. Except he denied ever blushing. 

" _Someone worth risking everything for?_ " Dave asked. 

"I think so," he answered quietly. "I'm willing to try."

He was met with silence; he didn't blame Dave for having doubts. "Davey, listen—" He started but got interrupted. 

" _Good luck, Michael_ ," Dave said, sounding sincere. " _I have to go. Send me the papers._ "

"Right. Thanks." Michael furrowed his brow as they said their goodbyes. 

He lit another cigarette and watched the sun go down before getting a taxi home. On his way home, he thought about quitting drinking — for a while, at least — and sorting out this whole mess. He wanted to talk to his family so they could all move on. 

In the end, none of his good intentions mattered. There was no letter this time, but as he eventually checked their closets after sitting alone for hours and calling them all a few times in vain, he concluded that his family had moved out again. 

Maybe that served him right. 

***

Once again, he was reminded of his loneliness and all the mistakes he had ever made — which was a lot, way too much for one lifetime — when Amanda ignored yet another phone call.

But at least he didn’t hurt as much anymore. Drinking all night to the point where your blood feels like it is more alcohol than water tends to do that.

"Fuck you, then, you... _fucking bitch,_ " Michael hissed at Amanda’s picture on his screen, ignoring the fact that it was the early hours of the morning and she was most likely sleeping. If he was thinking rationally, he would realize that.

But he wasn't capable of rationality. He just wanted to work things out and free them both. She didn’t let him. 

Then again, the reason to work things out hadn’t been in contact either, so perhaps he was losing his mind for no reason. He waited anxiously for Trevor to call, not even able to focus on watching movies. He listened to music and drank and smoked and kept calling Amanda, just waiting. 

Maybe he just couldn't handle being alone anymore — but he also couldn't stop thinking about Trevor, wondering what he was doing that kept him so busy from calling. There was no denying that Michael was missing Trevor, but why wasn't Trevor missing him?

He hesitated, but found Trevor’s contact and clicked it. Fuck waiting.

Like the first time, his call went straight to voicemail, and he breathed out a few curses before the beep. 

"Hey, T," Michael slurred into the phone. "I'm sorry for calling, I really, really am, and I know I should wait for you to call me, but I haven't fucking slept and I… _fuck_. I thought you should know I'm really working things out with my family, Trev, okay? I'm divorcing Amanda. I'm serious about _you_. I’m gonna tell them all that it’s you, but they left and they're not answering my calls, so I can’t yet. But I will, okay? I'll let them know soon. Call me back." He ended his ramble with a pathetic sniff and threw his phone on the other end of the couch. 

He was so much weaker than he liked to admit. Maybe that was why Trevor was so desperate to get away from him. 

Michael slapped his cheeks a few times. "Jesus fucking Christ, I gotta sober up," he grunted, his eyes wet and itchy as he watched the bottle he had been consuming — but pouring away such good whiskey would be a crime much worse than any other he had committed in his life. 

The rest of the morning went by in a blur of voice messages that mixed into each other so that in the afternoon, when he woke up after a couple of hours of sleep, Michael didn't even know which ones he had really left Trevor and which ones he just thought about but didn't dare speak out loud.

What he did remember was the feeling of desperation settling into his chest, and not even a cold, punishing afternoon shower managed to get rid of it. But the cold water had an unexpected benefit: it cleared his head enough for him to realize that if Amanda didn't come to him, he would just have to go to her.

He also realized that even if trying to find Amanda on his own would be like looking for a person without an STD in Vanilla Unicorn ( _damn near impossible_ ), he actually had one competent friend. Unless Amanda had decided to move to Uranus, _he_ would manage to find her. Hell, _he_ would find her even if she was in Uranus and find a way to get Michael there, too.

***

"Lester, I gotta find Amanda."

He paced in the kitchen, wearing a suit, actually making an effort to look presentable even when he was hungover and had dark circles around his eyes. The house was everything but presentable, empty pizza boxes and bottles cluttering the countertops, but he decided to worry about that later. He was ready to rush the second Lester told her where Amanda was. 

Lester snickered. " _Trouble in paradise, Michael?_ " And after a slight pause, he continued, " _Who am I kidding. Your marriage was never paradise_."

"Guess I can't argue with you there," Michael laughed bitterly. "Listen, she left and isn't answering my calls. I gotta find her, and I know you can do that."

" _Maybe_." Michael could hear him typing on his computer. " _So she caught you cheating and left you again, so you'll buy her new jewelry, and she'll forget that you cheated until she wants a new piece? Isn't that how it works for you two?_ "

Michael scoffed. "No! ... I mean, yeah, it did work like that. But no, I'm not doing that now."

" _What's this about if not cheating?_ " Lester asked in that unique tone of his. How could he sound so bored while asking him questions out of curiosity? 

Michael sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Of course I'm cheating on her. I'm an asshole. I’m just not asking her back this time."

Lester was quiet for a moment before humming. " _Can't say I didn't expect this sooner or later._ "

"Fuck you, too, Lest, I ain’t got time for your snark," Michael growled, growing more irritated as the call went on. He was impatient, but for once, he knew what he wanted. He didn't want to waste any more time. 

Then again, maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to insult the man who was helping him. "Sorry, Lest. I'm just a bit... Fuck. Can you find her or not?" 

Lester snorted. " _Already did. She's having dinner at Nutsaki, the one on Prosperity_. _And it would seem that your bank account has taken quite a hit today and yesterday._ "

"Of course it has," Michael scoffed. "Thanks, man, I owe you one." He was already making his way through the hallway to the door. 

" _Don't mention it_ ," Lester answered. " _What do your FIB pals think of this, by the way?_ "

Michael chuckled as he shut the door and walked to his car. Lester always had to brag about knowing everything. He opened his car door and got in. "Davey's sorting it out for me. As long as Amanda won't start any shit, we're good."

Lester snorted. " _Good luck with that_."

"Good to have your support," Michael sneered and ended the call hastily. After all, he had a dinner to crash and a marriage to end. 

**Author's Note:**

> It has been almost 7 months since part 3. I'm sorry. It shouldn't have taken this long. I had some issues with this part because it kept growing and I had to change my plans a lot. As result, this is very different from the previous parts, and I hope it didn't put people off. Then again, my fics are mostly about character interaction and dialogue, so if you're not here for that, I don't know what to tell you. :'D Let me know what you think, also go follow [My Tumblr](https://nevergonnasimpyoumikey.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> Once again, inspired by a song (oh look, it's Mikey's favorite band):
> 
> Genesis — Afterglow
> 
>   
> _Like the dust that settles all around me  
>  I must find a new home  
> The ways and holes that used to give me shelter  
> Are all as one to me now_
> 
> — —
> 
> _And I would search everywhere  
>  Just to hear your call  
> And walk upon stranger roads than this one  
> In a world I used to know before  
> For now I've lost everything  
> I give to you my soul  
> The meaning of all that I believed before  
> Escapes me in this world of none  
> I miss you more_


End file.
